


Fake

by Jinmukang



Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Betrayal, Gun Violence, Held at Gunpoint, Imposters, Whump, Whumptober 2020, Whumptober Day 3, forced to their knees, no.3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinmukang/pseuds/Jinmukang
Summary: "What the hell is going on?!" Jason growls. Dick smirks."You've been raised by the world's greatest detective, right?" Dick asks, his voice singsong. "Figure it out."
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946413
Comments: 28
Kudos: 184
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Fake

**Author's Note:**

> Onto day three!
> 
> No particular warnings for this one. It's pretty mild... considering.

Jason wakes up to a hand pressing down on his shoulder. Immediately, he's awake. His eyes fly open and his hand snatches the gun he keeps under his pillow like the cliche paranoid lone-wolf characters always do in the movies. Except Jason does it unironically. There’s been many times he’s woken up to an unfamiliar and leering face. A gun normally forced them to back off. 

And this time is no different. Well, except the face that backs up this time, hands raising in the air in surrender, isn’t one of ill intentions. It’s of familiarity. Of goofy, lopsided, apologetic smiles and familiar eyes. 

"Dick," Jason grumbles, letting the tension fall in his frame as he lowers the gun ever so slightly. Not all the way. Dick should know better than to wake Jason up so suddenly, especially if Jason's crashing in one of his safe houses in the bad parts of town like he’s doing now. Jason won't shoot him, and the idiot knows that there were only rubber bullets filling the chamber of his pistol, but it’s the thought that counts. right?

Within moments, his sleepy, adrenalin filled find catches up to him. 

Dick is in his room. Dick.

Holy crap. 

"Where the _heck_ have you been?" Jason hisses, throwing off the layers of his blankets to stand up. The chilled morning air hits his bare chest, but thankfully he previously decided to hit the hay in sweats. "It's been three weeks since anyone's heard from you."

Dick shrugs, lowering his arms and keeping his stupid bright, wide smile consistent as he leans nonchalantly against the wall. "Here and there. Secret stuff, ya know?" 

Jason scoffs. Yeah. He knows. Stupid Grayson and his stupid undercover missions he doesn't bother to tell anybody about. And the worst part is, Jason was actually worried about him. Everyone was. Even Bruce, seemingly, even though now Jason suspects the old man is in on it. 

Fuck. Jason thought they were fine with this undercover crap years ago, after the Spyral escapade and all that shiz.

Well. Apparently, not. A swell of anger enters his throat. He lifts his weapon.

"Are you gonna elaborate on that? Or are ya just gonna stand there and watch me shirtless like a creep?"

"That's actually why I'm here, Jay," Dick says with a sigh. "To elaborate. Something… came up. I need your help."

Jason now decides to lower his gun, dropping it onto the rumpled sheets above his now depressingly-empty-of-his-sleeping-body bed. 

He would love to tell Dick to go screw himself and then go back to bed. The entire family has been busting their butts with worry, trying to figure out where he's gone off to, and of course it just ends up being a super secret undercover mission. If Jason had half a mind, he'd punch Dick then drive to the manor and lock Bruce into the manor’s barn with Tim's dirty laundry for the rest of the day. 

Tim might disagree, but everyone besides him has come to the conclusion that Tim's body odor is the _worst_ . Yes they rank each other's body odor. They're boys and _Cass_ , what do you expect? Jason holds the record of best smelling body odor and Duke can shoot his urine off the roof of the manor the furthest. It's known facts of the family. 

Anyway, he gives Dick an unimpressed glare, his blood beginning to boil at the sheepish look on his face. How can he stand there _knowing_ that everyone's been frantically looking for him and look sheepish about it?

"Go tell Daddio then, I'm not interested to deal with your bullcrap," he grumbles. "You're in this together, dig yourself out of whatever hole you've fallen in together."

"Bruce can't know," Dick says quickly. Too quickly. Sharply like he's... worried. That grabs Jason's attention. The golden boy… doesn't want to tell Bruce something? 

Jason lifts an eyebrow and Dick sighs, his smile finally dropping just a bit as he reaches an arm up to rub the back of his neck. "There's a new smuggling group in town and I was put in charge of going in undercover to get information. The thing is, they found out that there was a mole. They don't know who it is, but they also don't think it's me. They _trust_ me. But there's a woman who works with them who they _do_ suspect. I haven't seen her in three days."

"And that means you can't go to Bruce… why?"

Dick gives him a look like Jason's not understanding something. He scowls, sighs again, then sticks his hands into his jean pockets. "They're cracking down on the signals we're putting out now. Checking our phones and such. I can't call Bruce otherwise they'll figure me out. And I can't drive to the manor because there's a higher chance of me being tracked."

"Payphone, then."

Now Dick doesn't bother to hide an annoyed expression. "Look. You're the closest and the easiest to contact. And… and this is my mission. Mine alone. I can't…"

He can't fail it. 

Jason gets it. 

He hates that he does. 

Jason exhales sharply, already deciding he's going to regret this. "What's the plan?"

Dick's bright, plastered smile returns along with a glint in his stupid blue eyes. "I overheard some higher-ups talking about an abandoned lot by Gotham Bay, and I saw a boat covered in a tarp in one of the warehouses they use. I think they're going to drop her in the bay. We just need to get there and take them out in a way that won't lead to suspicion. Just Nightwing and Red Hood saving a girl about to be drowned out of the goodness of their hearts."

"Bold of you to assume I have a heart," Jason grunts, "but sounds solid enough. Anything about these guys I need to know about? Names? Titles? You're being awfully vague."

"Sorry, Jay-lad," Dick says smoothly, and the nickname rings in Jason's ears. "Can't have the bats catching on."

-o-o-o-o-

Jay-lad.

Jason launches himself over a two story roof down towards the empty roads lining the bay. Sometimes, during the summer, there'll be parties and picnics in the parks circumferencing the ocean, but they're few and far between. Never that much fun. Especially when it starts to rain for the twenty-billionth time that day and a dead body washes in on the shore. 

_Jay-lad_?

Nightwing lands besides Jason. All smiles and perfect teeth like always. The brightness of his smile shines even in the dim, harsh light of Gotham's half-assed lampposts. Ahead of them is what definitely could be described as an abandoned lot. In Jason's opinion, it looks more like someone tried to build a department store on the shore and forgot the tide exists. It's half submerged, walls rotting and the roof caved in. Graffiti of all kinds litter the walls, no attempt by anyone to ever clear it up. 

Did Dick really call him _Jay-lad_?

To the side of the building is a boat, floating softly right where it's just deep enough to do so. It's tied to the building though, not going anywhere for a little while longer. 

Dick's never called him Jay-lad before. That's… that's Bruce's thing. Jason's always been _Little_ Wing, or Jay _bird_ . Names he's always hated, but might have been secretly proud of a few times in his life. Names he’s always hated, but they were _Dick’s_ nicknames for him. 

"They might be in the building trying to get last minute information out of her," Dick says, his voice still _way_ too happy. All smiles. Perfect teeth. Jason didn't think it was odd a few hours earlier, but now it's grating on his nerves in such a specific way that he can't help but search for all the little things that's bothering him about Dick right now. 

For one, the nickname. 

For two, the happy go lucky attitude. The guy is optimistic, sure, but he knows when business is _business_ . Business includes saving a woman wrongfully accused of being a spy in a group of criminals _he_ was spying on. He should be full of guilt and anger right about now. Dick's a martyr, and he hates it when people are being hurt for something he's done. 

For numero three, the way he flips over the roofs. Or well, the lack of flips. Jason didn't see him flip _once_. Just jump, land, jump, land, keeping up pace with Jason and not making any useless chatter along the way. 

Dick's been gone for three weeks, and he comes back with a vague excuse with holes and acts… wrong. 

It must be in Jason's head. It has to be. 

"So we go in through the windows and get her out before we have to swim to get her," Jason says and Dick nods his head. 

"Let's go," Dick says, rushing forward just like that. No jokes, no verbal announcements of why they're doing this, no _keep safes_. 

Let's go. Just that. 

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong and Jason can't figure out what.

So he goes along. Follows Dick towards the building and watches the dim windows for any movement. There's none. Which is strange. Normally, when a Gotham villain wants to get rid of a mole, they do it rather dramatically and over the top. Gotham criminals are rather proud of that status, and when someone enters their ranks pretending to be one of them they take it as a personal offence. 

Regardless of that, when Dick chooses a window closest to the shore and begins wading through the water, Jason trails after, his hands twitching for the guns on his hips. 

By the time they make it to the window, they're mid-thigh deep in chillingly freezing water. Dick makes a signal for Jason to stay put for a second, looks in the window, then opens it to climb through. Jason waits in the ice-cold water for Dick's signal, trying not to think about what the salt water is going to do to his pants but also definitely thinking about what he's going to do to Dick if his pants are ruined. 

"Clear," comes Dick's voice after a solid minute of waiting. Jason releases an uneasy breath, ready to get out of the ocean but also still feeling like something is very, very off about this entire situation. 

Jason shoves the doubts to the back of his mind, grabs onto the ledge of the window, then hefts himself up. 

The first thing he notices when he enters the room is that it's dark. Empty. Dust lingering in the air. The next thing he notices is that Dick is nowhere to be seen. 

The third thing is that Dick _is,_ in fact, here, but he makes himself known by jamming a fist into Jason's throat and grabbing the collar of his leather jacket. Before Jason can recover from the attack on his neck and catch his breath, he's shoved against the far wall, away from the window.

Away from escape. 

Anger puddles in Jason's gut. 

"What the _hell_ ," he snarls, his voice scratching, as he ducks under another swing. Dick's fist rams into the wall, resulting in the wall gaining some shining new cracks. The force of the punch was definitely enough to break fingers, even if properly thrown, but Dick doesn't even flinch. Just reals around with a frown on his lips and a downward, furious tilt to his brow. Jason grabs his guns, aiming them at the man he's _just_ begun to consider family again. Dick stops in his tracks at the sight of the weapons being aimed at him and glares. 

"This isn't anything personal, Jay-lad," Dick says slowly, but he doesn't make any moves to back off or surrender. He just stands there. Heartless milky eyes staring through his mask.

"There ya go again, calling me that," Jason hisses, keeping his aims steady towards Dick's chest. 

"I always call you that," Dick says, and Jason almost sees green. 

"No you don't," he growls. "You've never called me that. And you've been acting weird all night. Off. And now you're attacking me? What the fuck is going on?!"

And for the first time in a very long ass time, Jason watches the one expression that doesn't look pretty on Dick pass on his face. Frustration. Annoyance. Rage. 

It's an expression Jason hasn't seen in _years_. Not since Jason was still in his early teens and still believed Robin gave him magic. Not since Dick and Bruce were at each other's throats whenever they were anywhere near each other for whatever reason. The downturn to his lips, the crinkling under his eyes, the scrunching of his nose, the sneer. It's not a good expression on Dick. 

It's a terrifying one. 

"You'll have to find out, wontcha, hoodie?"

And Dick charges. Teeth bared, fists clenched. Jason just manages to block the next punch with the back of his arm. He lashes out with his free hand, the one holding the gun, and attempts to toss a pistol whip. He succeeds, smacking his cheekbone with a _crack_. Dick's cries out, stumbling back a step before charging again, fire in his normally cool eyes. 

Jason tries to hit him again, but Dick anticipates the move, hitting Jason on the inside of his arm with enough force for Jason to accidentally let go of the weapon. The gun goes sliding across the weathered floor, clanking against the far wall. He doesn't go for it, just shifts to a more _hands on_ approach to take care of this. He throws his fist, hitting Dick along the jaw, but Dick retaliates by throwing a leg up and kicking Jason right in the gut. Jason gasps, pissed now that his breath has been knocked out of him two times now, and immediately kicks back. 

The fight continues. Hits here, kicks there. There's no quips. No banter. Just the sound of panting breaths and the dull thuds of blows being exchanged. 

Jason goes to smack Dick's ears and disorientate him, however he doesn't get to finish his blow. Dick ducks under his arm and slams his entire body weight into Jason's stomach. Arms wrap around Jason's middle, sending them both to the floor. He shouts when his back lands roughly on the ground and his head thunks in the inside of his helmet, but he immediately begins to shove Dick off from him. 

He succeeds in that regard. But Dick almost rolls off of Jason himself, getting to his feet in a blink of an eye and sprinting for the other side of the room. 

Jason realizes why the moment Dick bends down and snatches up Jason's lost weapon. 

The gun. 

For a second, Jason almost believes that Dick will smile, drop the weapon, and say this was all some huge test or spar. But then, Dick lifts the gun, aims with accuracy, and squeezes his finger on the trigger. 

Jason has a blink of an eye to roll out of the way of the first bullet, but the second one hits him right in the thigh. 

And he knows he has rubber bullets. They're not meant to be deadly. 

But they sure as hell are painful. 

Immediately, it feels like someone took a baseball bat to his leg. He tries to stand up, but his leg persistently wants to buckle. He manages to scramble to his feet, using the wall as support, but then there's another blast from his stupid fucking gun and he stumbles. Next thing he knows, a hand grabs his shoulder and pulls him down, slamming his stomach against a bony knee heartlessly. He falls to his knees, gasping for air, hardly aware of the hand that goes to the hidden latch at the back of his helmet until there's a hiss and air hits his skin. 

The barrel of his own gun presses against his head as the hand still on his shoulder squeezes. Jason sucks in air, then glares up at Dick who's wearing a triumphant smirk. 

"Not so tough now, are ya?" Dick says, and Jason snarls. He goes to stand up, but the gun presses harder against his skull. A rubber bullet is still a bullet when at point blank. He stills. 

"What the hell is going on?!" He growls, and Dick smirks. 

"You've been raised by the world's greatest detective, right?" Dick asks, his voice singsong. "Figure it out."

And Jason _hates_ that. Everything Dick is saying. Doing. Acting. It all feels fake. Practiced. Like he's playing a part but not playing it completely. Like the backup actor for when the lead one calls out right before a performance. 

Acting. Fake. Practiced. Wrong. Different.

Holy shit. 

"You're not Dick," Jason acuses, the realization slamming into him like a truck. This isn't Dick. It's so clear now. He's so _dumb_ for not realizing earlier. It's all been some sort of set up. And maybe it was easy to look past the strange actions because he was, dare he say it, _relieved_ that Dick was okay and alive and standing in his bedroom after three weeks of being missing. Three weeks and _counting_ now. "Who are you?!"

The fake laughs, twisting the barrel of the gun against Jason's head. Jason has no doubt he'll shoot it. "My name isn't important. What _is_ important is that I'm wearing the face of the most trusted guy in the superhero world. You were the field test, Hood. Looks like besides a few hiccups here and there, I'm ready for the big league."

Jason stills. _Hiccups_? This guy, whoever he is, knows things that he shouldn't. Secret identities. Nicknames. Personalities. He's had to get his information from somewhere. And three weeks seems like a pretty realistic timeframe to get that kind of information. 

"Where's Dick. The real one. He in a room like this too?"

Because he can't be dead. He _can't_ be. 

"Course he is," the fake replies, "have him stuffed away somewhere you'll see soon. Seems like there's information he got wrong and left out, enough to get you suspicious of me. That's fine though, he was pretty tight lipped at first. He loosened up after a few days. We'll just keep trying on the both of you. I think I'll be able to fool Batman himself soon enough."

And shit. If that isn't a scary thought. Because it seems… true. Believable. Like Bruce can actually be fooled by this man that looks exactly like Dick. 

"This isn't going to work," Jason says, instead of voicing his real thoughts. 

The fake's grin widens. 

"It already is."

Then, he brings the gun back, smacking it against Jason's forehead with a snap.

Jason goes down hard, and he wonders as consciousness begins to fleet, how long it will take the rest of the family to realize something is wrong. 

With the chirping of laughter that sounds so familiar to Dick's that it makes Jason's stomach churn, his eyes shut against his will, and darkness embraces him warmly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!!
> 
> kudos, bookmarks, and comments especially are always appreciated and welcome!


End file.
